Without a word, he slid his hands under my back and scooped me into a sitting position. I pulled away, managing to support myself for almost a second before my arm buckled and I fell back against his chest. He put an arm across my shoulders, holding me there.

“Stay,” he said, firmly.

“You got it,” I said, looking around the room. We were still in the basement. A thick bandage had been wrapped around my left wrist, streaks of red staining the white. Tybalt and I were sitting on the cot where we’d placed Terrie’s body. That made sense. It was available real estate now.

“You were bleeding so much we didn’t dare move you,” said Elliot. “If Tybalt hadn’t told us you did it to yourself, we’d have thought you were attacked. I’ve never met anyone who cuts themselves open as often as you do.”

“It’s a talent of hers,” said Tybalt.

“Not a good one,” said Elliot, picking up a mug and offering it to me. “Drink this.”

“Coffee?” I took the mug, peering into it. It wasn’t coffee. Not unless the description had been rewritten to include “green and sticky.”

“No,” said Elliot. It was good to know that I didn’t need to add hallucinations to my list of symptoms. “Just drink it.”

“I don’t drink green things.”

“I made it. Drink it.”

That didn’t strike me as being an incentive. “What is it?”

“One of Yui’s recipes,” he said. It was the first time he didn’t flinch when he said her name. “It’s good for headaches. She used to give it to Colin when he stayed human too long.”

I peered into the cup. If it tasted anything like it smelled, I was going to be very unhappy. Still . . . “Does it work?”

“Colin said it did.”

“Right.” I was an excellent target in my current condition, and I couldn’t afford to turn down anything that might help. Squeezing my eyes shut, I chugged the contents of the cup.

It didn’t taste as bad as it looked. It tasted worse. Stars exploded behind my eyes as the mug slipped out of my hands to shatter on the floor. For a moment, I was halfway convinced that I’d been poisoned; then my headache withdrew, so abruptly that it left me dizzy. The ache in my wrist and hand seemed to worsen, filling the vacuum, but that was the sort of pain I could deal with. I’m used to it.

I opened my eyes. The world snapped obligingly into focus. “What was in that stuff?”

“Pennyroyal, cowslips, and wisteria, mostly,” Elliot said. “Are you all right?”

“No, but I’m feeling better.” Sometimes I hate our inability to thank each other. Tap-dancing around the phrase gets old, especially when I’m tired.

“Good,” said Tybalt, removing his arm.

I leaned back on my good hand, taking a breath. I still felt queasy, but it was nowhere near as bad. Straightening, I turned to Alex. He looked surprisingly good for someone that had recently been dead.

“We need to talk,” I said.

He nodded, slowly. “I think you’re right. Was I really . . . ?”

“As a doornail. How are you feeling?”

Alex shuddered, saying, “I don’t know. It feels like part of me is missing.”

“Part of you is missing, Alex.” I shook my head. “I don’t think Terrie’s coming back.” He looked stricken. I pushed on anyway, asking, “Do you remember anything about what happened?” You’d better, because I can’t do that again, I added, silently.

Alex licked his lips, looking between me and Elliot before he said, “I don’t usually remember what happens to Terrie.”

“But this time you do?”

“A . . . a little bit.” He grimaced. “She felt awful when you left. So she went for a walk.”

“Did she see anyone?”

“Well, yeah.” He sounded slightly surprised. “April. She said Gordan wanted me. Wanted Terrie.”

“So Terrie followed her?” I asked. I felt Tybalt stiffen beside me.

Alex hesitated. Then, slowly, he nodded.

“Elliot. April is the interoffice pager, right? That’s her job?”

“Yes, exactly,” said Elliot, starting to look as uncomfortable as I felt. He was connecting the lines. I could see it in his eyes.

“So all of you, you just follow her whenever she asks you to.”

“Well . . . yes.”

“I see.” At least I thought I did, and I didn’t like what I was looking at. Maybe April couldn’t have been the one to kill Peter . . . but nothing said Gordan had to be working alone. “Where did she take Terrie?”

“The generator room.” Alex paused, expression twisting. “Where Peter died.”

“Then what happened?”

“I . . . we . . .” Alex closed his eyes, starting to talk more quickly. “She said to wait, and she vanished. And the lights went out.”

“Just the lights in the generator room?”

“There were still lights on in the hall. Terrie has . . . Terrie had really good night vision, and she saw something in the shadows. You said not to go off alone. That’s when she realized she was alone.”

“Is that when Terrie ran?”

“No. She called for Gordan—she’s always hanging out in weird places, it could have been her—but she didn’t answer, and that was sort of scary. So Terrie ran.” He was talking faster and faster, like he could outrun what he was saying. “Whoever it was followed her into the hall, so she kept running. Terrie made it outside.” A sigh. “She thought she was safe.”

“What happened then?” He started to shake, not answering. “Alex?”

He didn’t stop shaking, but started to talk again, voice dull: “Something hit her from behind. There was this pain in her throat and wrists and then in her chest . . . and then it was over.” He raised his head. “Then you were kissing me.”

Tybalt growled. I put a hand on his knee, signaling him to be still. Things were coming together with fast, fierce finality. April had given me the last piece I really needed; I’d just been too distracted to see it. When she came to Colin’s office, she said I was going to find out what caused them to remain isolated from the network. And when Jan died, she said there were no more reboots. She didn’t want to know why they were dying, because she already knew why.